


Strong Enough

by Freowyn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Major Illness, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), This is going to be long, Twins, Weasley twins, and slow, gen - Freeform, if i ever get to that part, lots and lots and lots of angst and pain and sadness, sorry in advance, umm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-02-05 06:43:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12789027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freowyn/pseuds/Freowyn
Summary: Fred gets hit by a terrible spell and things only go south from there. George would do anything to save his twin.





	1. The First Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! So. This has been sitting in my drafts for SO. DAMN. LONG. and I figured maybe it's time to upload it and see if anyone is actually interested in reading it?  
> Mind you, it's mostly pain and fear and drama and angst and two brothers basically being unable to function without each other. 
> 
> I don't have a beta reader, so any mistakes are my own!

“Nah… yeah.. yeah.. nah. Huh. Yeah. Yeah .. WOAH, no, definitely no..”, George muttered under his breath as he rummaged through their mother’s potion’s supply, deciding which ones to bring back with him to Grimmauld Place and which ones to leave at the Burrow. The ones he thought might come in handy he wrapped up in socks he had brought over from his own room, then carefully placed them in a large canvas bag, which, in turn, ended up in the last available corner of a battered old leather suitcase, already filled to the brim with all kinds of things he’d packed over the course of the last couple of hours. Having reassured himself twice that the bag was safely tucked between some knitted sweaters and a couple of towels - he was positive their mom would kill him if he broke one of her precious potions bottles -, George closed the lid with some effort, then finally allowed himself to stretch his back and roll his shoulders. Even with the help of magic, spending hours crouched over heaps of clothing and bent over desks and shelves, constantly sorting and packing, didn’t exactly agree with anybody’s muscles.

With a sigh of relief he renewed the spell he’d put on the suitcase earlier that made it light as a feather, then picked it up and carefully trudged down the stairs into the living room where something made him halt in his steps. He didn’t want to leave. This was home. Something Grimmauld Place could never be - not to him anyway. Not even to Sirius, who’d grown up there. It was too dark, too dusty, too empty. Too grim. He would never get used to it. Here, at the Burrow, everything seemed to brim with life, and something in the way the day’s last rays of sunshine danced through the old windows made him look at the place like he never had before. He’d miss it. He’d miss the bulky old wooden table, and his and Fred’s seats by the window. He’d miss the way the wind would blow through the open windows on a warm day, and the way the herbs his mother had hung from the ceiling would rustle in the breeze. 

And of course, he’d miss the old magical clock whose hands bore the faces of his family. All of which were currently pointed towards “Lost”, George noted with a lopsided grin. The order’s hideout at Grimmauld Place 12 was well protected - naturally the clock wouldn’t know where all the Weasley’s had gone. For a heartbeat, George was tempted to take the clock off the wall and take it with him to the order’s headquarters. A bit of home, a bit of normality. But then again, it belonged in the Burrow, and, though not without regret, George decided to leave it where it was. It was one of the things that truly made their home their home. Besides, in case anyone should come looking for them, be it the Ministry or ruddy Death Eaters, it would serve them right to find all hands pointed at “Lost”. With that thought in his mind and a grin on his lips, George walked out the front door for what would probably be the last time in a long time. 

“Fred?”, he called out, trying to keep his voice low in case the house was already being watched - though he doubted that, they hadn’t been gone for more than a couple of days. 

“Over here, brother o’ mine”, came his twin’s voice from around a corner. George raised an eyebrow. Fred sounded suspiciously relaxed. And when George followed his voice towards their mother’s beloved vegetable garden, well tended as ever and beautiful as it was bathed in soft evening light, and found Fred stretched out on the ground on his back, hands folded behind his head, it was more than hard to resist the urge to throw something at him. 

“Oi, you lazy prat, you could have helped me!” 

Fred made a noise somewhere between a grunt and an “eh”, accompanied by a vague movement that might have been a shrug.  
George was going to drop it, he really was. He was going to just accept that Fred had done his job faster than George had done his, and therefore deserved a break. But then, as if he’d sensed George’s thoughts and knew he’d gotten away with being a lazy prat for god knows how long, Fred grinned. Unfortunately, George’s back chose that exact moment to complain once more about the uncomfortable position it’d been forced into for too many hours on end. Suddenly letting Fred get away with it didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.  
George’s grin returned as he bent down to inspect a cabbage head that had ended up rather scrawny and smaller than the others. 

“Sorry, mum”, he whispered as he picked it, as quietly as possible as to not alert Fred, and chuckled to himself before he hurled it at his twin’s face - only to burst out laughing when Fred, who had deemed himself safe, gave a surprised grunt, struggled to sit up with his arms flailing and nearly ended up with a mouthful of cabbage leaves. He gave George a look of reproach which only made George bend over double with snorts of laughter. 

“Pff.. what was that for, then?” Fred complained, unable to bite back a grin as he pulled a piece of cabbage out of his hair. 

“For being a lazy git, is what”, George giggled, leaning back against the sturdy old wooden fence their dad had put up around the little crop so many years ago. 

“Oi”, Fred exclaimed, half-heartedly throwing a handful of cabbage back at George, but missing him by more than an arm’s length. “You’re calling ME lazy, after making me go collect Ginny’s things? It wasn’t easy finding anything in her room, let alone something useful. Everything was covered in pictures of Harry, it was frightening.” 

“Woah, hang on there for a sec, I think you might be exaggerating a little”, grinned George. “Sure, he’s a bit on the short side and perhaps a little scrawny, and Merlin knows not half as good-looking as me, but I wouldn’t call his face frightening…”

Fred laughed heartily, brushing the last of the remaining cabbage leaves off his clothes before he stood up. “I don’t know man, it did scare You-Know-Who out of his body for several years.”

“Right, I’m sure that’s what happened”, George said, giving his brother’s shoulder a friendly shove as he walked past him to retrieve his suitcase from the far corner of the vegetable garden where he’d left it earlier. “Are you ready then? It’s getting late, I bet mom’s worried sick about us by now. You know how she gets.” 

“Yeah, she’s probably about to send Bill to collect us. Reckon we should wait for him to arrive? You know that patch of grass was rather comfy…”

“Fred!”

“Oh, alright, alright”, Fred sighed as he reached for the other of the two suitcases their parents had asked them to fill, and walked over to stand beside his brother. As though choreographed, the two turned around to look at the Burrow one more time, just as the sun finally set beyond the far hills. George’s heart sank a little as he wondered when he’d see it again. He sighed. 

“Sap”, said Fred. 

“Shut up”, said George, though a small smile returned to his lips.

He knew Fred felt the same way about leaving their home to spend the rest of the summer locked up inside at Grimmauld Place - he hated it as much as George did, but he also knew that talking about it would only make it worse. It would only make them think about all the things they had to leave behind. The freedom of the wild fields around the house, the comfortable couch in front of the fireplace, the familiar smells of, well… home. 

But at least they’d still have each other.

With that thought, George reached out to grip his twin’s arm, ready to apparate. 

“Ready, Fred?” 

“Ready, George.” 

They both gripped their suitcases tightly and stepped forward to turn on the spot and disappear, when George felt something searing hot shoot past his left ear, just between his and Fred’s heads. 

“What the-?!”, he gasped as he stumbled backwards. Fred caught him by the arm and together they whirled around, just in time to see a hooded figure fire another spell in their direction. 

“Look out!”, George yelled as he threw himself at Fred and knocked them both over, a fraction of a second before something green flashed right through the empty space where Fred’s chest had been. 

They struggled frantically to get back on their feet, yanking their wands out of their pockets. “Death-eaters”, growled Fred, a dangerous glint flaring up in his eyes alongside a faint flash of fear. 

Oh no. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t try to fight them. Would he?

“Leave it, Fred, we have to go!”

But it was too late, they were upon them. With a desperate lunge, George managed to narrowly avoid another curse. A shiver ran down his back when he heard - and felt - the grass behind him catch fire. 

“Stupefy!” He sent the curse flying over his shoulder as he reached out with his other arm to grab one of the suitcases and, using the one second he gained as the death-eater ducked to avoid his spell, hurled it in the general direction of his brother. “Fred!”  
Fred, who was ducking and staggering backwards, desperately trying to dodge whatever curses the other death-eater fired at him, met George’s eyes, caught on, and lauched himself at the suitcase.  
Reaching out to his side to grab the other one, George suddenly felt strong arms wrapping themselves around his middle. Fear gripped his heart as he struggled to get away. Instinctively, he lifted his suitcase and thrust it over his shoulder as hard as he could without letting go. He heard a loud, satisfying crack, followed by a muffled curse, as the hands around his middle disappeared. 

Immediately, George turned on the spot, both hands still gripping the old leather handle tightly, and disapparated, hoping, praying, that Fred had done the same. 

When the world came back into focus, George found himself just outside Grimmauld Place, panting as he sank to his knees right before number eleven and thirteen. It was eerily quiet.

He was alone. 

“Fred?”, he gasped between breaths, looking over his shoulder and casting searching glances every which way as he forced himself back up, anxiously waiting for his twin to appear. Seconds ticked by. Five … ten … twenty … it couldn’t have taken Fred that long to grab the suitcase and disapparate? George felt panic rising in him until it very nearly choked him.  
Why isn’t he here? Why didn’t he apparate? What if they… what if he-?  
George dropped his own suitcase and stepped forward, picturing the Burrow- … 

CRACK 

It didn’t take George more than half a second to identify the noise as someone who’d just apparated nearby; sprinting, he took off in the direction of the voices that followed it. 

“Urghh..”  
“Stupefy!”  
“Cruci-”  
“STUPEFY!” 

“FRED!” George nearly tripped over his own feet as he rounded a corner, his eyes frantically scanning the small park that lay there, searching for his twin, his knuckles white from how tightly he gripped his wand.  
As soon as his eyes found the Death-Eater, he fired. 

“Expelliarmus!” 

The following seconds would be etched into George’s memory for a long time - and even at that moment, he could swear the world slowed down, forcing him to watch the scene that played out before him in terrible, agonizing slow-motion, over and over again. 

George’s spell soared towards the masked figure, and George knew it was going to find its target, but he also knew it would be too late. The Death-Eater raised his wand and, pointing it at Fred, fired a curse - Fred raised his wand to defend himself, but, distracted by George’s voice, he was a splitsecond too late. At at the same moment the Death-Eater’s wand was knocked out of his fist by George’s spell, a sickly green bolt of lightning hit Fred square in the chest, knocking him backwards into a wall. George, eyes wide with horror, watched his twin raise an arm to clutch his chest, then sink to his knees before he dropped to the ground. His head collided with the cold, dirty cobble with a sickening sound, then he lay still. 

“Fred”, George gasped. And as suddenly as it had seemed to slow down, time returned to its normal pace. A cold, suffocating panic took possession of George - and was immediately replaced by blind, searing rage, as he turned his eyes back on the Death Eater, who had retrieved his wand and raised it, aiming for George’s head, but George didn’t waste a heartbeat.

“STUPEFY!” 

The Death-Eater was lifted off his feet, and catapulted backwards against the thick trunk of an old tree, where he remained motionless. 

A heartbeat later, George found himself down on his knees, next to his twin’s limp body, hands hovering over Fred’s shoulders for a second before he heaved him into his lap and cradled his still form in his arms. “Fred?”, he asked, his voice suddenly shaking. “Fred, no, please...”

He couldn’t-... no, he couldn’t possibly be-.. no. Not his twin, not Fred. 

Biting back rising panic as well as stupid, useless tears, George brought one of his hands up to Fred’s face, praying he’d feel his brother’s breath against his skin. He thought he did, but at the same moment a breeze ruffled his hair, and he couldn’t be sure. “Dammit, you prat, don’t you fucking dare-...”, George whimpered miserably, now pressing his hand to Fred’s chest - and finally, finally… he found a heartbeat. 

Dizzy with relief, he pulled Fred’s left arm over his shoulder and wrapped his own right arm around his twin’s waist, staggering under both their weights as he struggled to stand up. It took him the better part of a minute to make his way over to the Death-Eater’s motionless form. Baring his teeth in a snarl, George took his wand from his pocket, summoning the Death-Eater’s one into his own hand with a flick of his wrist, and sent thin, white strings flying from the tip of his wand. He watched them wrap themselves around the Death-Eater’s wrists and ankles and, for a heartbeat, considered finishing him off for good - but he couldn’t waste any time. 

And slowly but steadily - more or less, anyway - he half carried, half dragged Fred with him as he stumbled back towards Grimmauld Place, Nr. 12.


	2. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George made it back to Grimmauld Place Nr. 12, with a barely-alive Fred in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the formatting on this one is a bit wonky! I couldn't figure out how to copy properly from PDF to AO3, so some things may be a little off - and of course I couldn't find the dang open office file anywhere. Typical.   
> So! This one is super angsty, sorry about that but also not really because it's what I live for!

STRONG ENOUGH  
Chapter 2: "Fear"

 

“Oh, boys, finally , where have you b- … oh dear.”

Molly Weasley’s scolding voice dropped to a breathless gasp when she realized that one of her twins was unconscious, held up only by the other’s firm grip around his middle.

“ARTHUR!”, she called out for her husband, one of her hands flying to her chest in shock as she wrapped her other arm around Fred as well, taking some of his weight off George’s shoulders. Together they managed to heave the other twin’s limp body up the stairs and down the hall, where they were almost knocked down by a very worried looking Mr. Weasley who came running out of the dining room.

“Molly, dear, what’s- … oh no. What happened?” Immediately, he stepped out of their way and hurried ahead into the living room, where he unceremoniously cleared the largest couch of an enormous pile of clutter to make room for Fred.

“Deatheaters”, George croaked as he and his mother carefully lowered Fred onto the pillows, and he planted himself firmly on the floor directly beside the couch, his hand never once leaving Fred’s arm. Trying to spare his mother the details, George kept his explanations short.

“The house was being watched.. they waited for us to apparate and attacked.. grabbed us - I got away but one of them got to Fred.. and..” His voice caught in his throat and suddenly he remembered something. The suitcases! If somehow the other Death Eater had managed to follow their trail, their suitcases would be a dead givaway of their location. As soon as George had described where to find them, his dad took off to retrieve them and take care of the tied up Death Eater.

For a second, the only thing breaking the silence was George’s breathing, and the crackling sound of a fire his mom had kindled in the fireplace.

George’s eyes returned to his twin’s pale face. Dancing shadows, cast upon Fred’s features by the evermoving flames, almost made it look like he was twitching. But of course he wasn’t. Fred was still exactly as unconscious as he had been since the spell hit ihm. It took George a moment to realize that his mother was waiting for a reply to a question he hadn’t heard. Feeling rather lost and helpless, he looked at her. To his relief, she understood, and, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as she tugged a thin blanket around Fred with the other, repeated the question.

“What kind of spell was it, dear?”

“It-... um.” It hit George then, that he had no idea. How was he supposed to help Fred if he didn’t even know what kind of spell it was that’d knocked his brother out? Looking up, he could see the same worry clouding his mother’s eyes. “I don’t know”, he whispered. “It.. it was.. green.”

His mother’s face blanched several shades, and George suddenly felt sick. Neither needed to voice their thoughts. They were lucky Fred was alive.

“Mom, is he-”, George croaked, but was interrupted by a voice coming from the hall.

“George, you’re back!” Seconds later the twins’ younger sister, Ginny, appeared in the doorway.

“You’ve been gone forever, did you bring my- …Why are you sitting on the floor? Where’s Fr-” When her eyes found Fred, taking in his pale face and his arm, dangling lifelessly over the side of the couch, she all but launched herself across the room. “What happened??” she screeched. “Is he-”

“He’s alive, dear, just unconscious”, said Mrs. Weasley, putting an arm around her only daughter as well, quickly explaining to her what had happened before she gently pushed both Ginny and George - despite their best efforts to resist - aside. George, she led gently towards the other side of the small tea-table, where he helplessly crumpled into one of the large armchairs. Ginny, she shoved carefully towards the door to the hall. “Now let me see what I can do for him. Ginny, go tell Remus what happened, he might know what to do. Oh and tell Ron, too, he should know..”

Reluctantly, Ginny left the room, though not without throwing worried glances back over her shoulder every other step. Mrs. Weasley knelt beside the couch, wand hovering inches above Fred’s chest and one hand resting on his forehead.

“George, why don’t you go make some tea..”, Mrs. Weasley said after a minute, noting how George’s eyes were fixed on his unconscious twin’s face.

“I want to stay here.”

“Fred’s not going anywhere, dear, you don’t have t-”, she began, but gave up when she saw George’s expression. George wasn’t going to go anywhere until he could be sure that Fred was going to be alright, and she knew better than to try to convince him otherwise.

The two sat in silence for a while, interrupted only by incantations Mrs. Weasley muttered under her breath. George didn’t understand half of what she did, nor did he have any concept of how much time passed, but even though it felt like hours to him, it couldn’t have been more than five minutes before his dad returned to the room, accompanied by Remus Lupin and Ginny.

Both Mr. Weasley and Remus went to sit beside Mrs. Weasley. George couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other, but it didn’t matter much to him, as long as they only hurried up and found a way to help his brother soon . Ginny remained standing in the doorway for a minute, seemingly usure what to do with herself. Eventually, she came to stand next to George, who was still sitting in the same armchair she’d left him in - he had his arms wrapped around his legs, and his knees tucked under his chin, and looked rather lost, and… small.

“He’ll be alright, you know”, said Ginny softly, sitting down on the large chair’s armrest. George didn’t move and for a second she wondered if he’d even heard her, but then he met her eyes, and the fear Ginny saw in them shocked her to her core. She’d never seen either of the twins look so scared.

“You can’t know that.”

“Yes I can.”

George’s only reaction to Ginny’s bold statement was silence, and with a gruff sigh at his sister’s stubbornness he turned his eyes back to his twin. Had some color crawled back onto his face or was that just the flickering light of the fire playing a trick on George’s eyes?

“He made it this far, George. If the Death-Eater had wanted to kill him, he would have”, said Ginny, and it was her blunt matter-of-factness more than anything that finally earned her George’s attention. As much as he didn’t want to think about that, she was right, of course. Whatever spell the Death-Eater had fired at Fred, it would have been just as easy for him to cast the killing curse instead and reduce the number of people who fought for the resistance by one for good. But he hadn’t. And now George couldn’t help but wonder why. The unspoken question seemed to be written all over his face, for Ginny offered quietly:

“I suppose they were hoping to get their hands on at least one of you- .. well, any one of us really, for.. interrogation.”

“As if we’d tell them anything”, George huffed. He didn’t want to acknowledge the images his mind promptly began to conjure up. He didn’t want to think about what might have happened.. the things Death-Eaters could have done to Fred, to get him to talk. Or the things they could still do in the future, should they ever get their hands on him. For a moment George wondered if he would break and spill all of the Order’s secrets, in the face of Death-Eaters threatening his twin. Nonsense. I wouldn’t , he thought immediately, not allowing his thoughts to linger on maybe’s and what-ifs. It was so much easier to just stubbornly tell himself: “I wouldn’t.”

Ginny looked at him for a long moment.

“I know”, she said. “But that’s what they’ll never understand.”

Before George could respond, the door that connected the living room to the hall was thrown open once more, and Ron burst into the room, followed by a more collected but still worried looking Harry and Hermione. Ron’s hair was dripping wet and he was clothed in nothing but pajamas and a bathrobe. He made for the couch, but Mr. Weasley caught him before he could lauch himself at his unconscious brother.

“What’s wrong with him? What happened? I- .. I was in the shower and- .. Ginny! Ginny said-”

“Calm down Ron”, said Mr. Weasley, trying very hard to sound less worried than he really was. “He’s alive, we’ll figure it out, he’ll pull through.” George could tell they were no closer to figuring it out than they’d been when they’d started. And so could Ron, if the look on his face was any indication. But before the youngest Weasley boy could argue, Tonks appeared in the doorway, between Harry and Hermione, asking if there was anything she could do. George’s shoulders began to tense - suddenly the room felt too small, too crowded. There were too many people, all of them throwing worried, pitying glances at him, and staring at his unconscious twin like he was some sort of attraction. Thankfully, Ginny noticed. She laid one hand on George’s shoulder for half a heartbeat before she jumped off the armrest and said loudly:

“Tea.”

She carried herself towards the kitchen with such an aura of authority that no one could help but nod and follow - with the exception of Ron, who had to be ushered out by Mrs. Weasley (”Ron, please , you’re dripping all over the floor, that’s certianly not helping anyone..”), and George, who simply didn’t have it in him to leave his twin. Thankfully, no one seemed to expect him to, and George suddenly felt both a rush of affection for his sister, and an immense gratitude towards her.

\---

The next thing he knew was his mother’s hand on his shoulder and her voice, saying something he heard but couldn’t yet process. With a jolt he snapped back to consciousness and realized that he must have dozed off. Panicking, he cut his mother off:

“How long- .. ?? How is-”

“Shh, it’s alright. It’s only been half an hour.” George was about to interrupt her again, to ask how they could have let him fall asleep, but his mother was faster. “You needed some rest, George, you still do.” She followed his gaze. “And so does your brother. We’ve done all we can, now it’s up to time to heal what else there is to heal and let him wake up when he’s ready.” Her eyes returned to George’s face, and she lifted her arm to gently cup his cheek in her hand before pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Oh, my boys… my brave boys”, she half sighed half sobbed into his shoulder. “I should never have allowed you to go..”

A little awkwardly, George hugged his mother back, gently petting her shoulder as he forced his face into a lopsided smile. “Well, technically, you never really did..”, he offered. In truth, he and Fred had merely convinced their dad that they simply couldn’t bear to spend another day locked up inside this place - and after what had seemed like hours, they’d somehow gotten their mother to stop arguing.

“But I should have stopped you, I should have-”

“I really don’t think you had a chance there, Molly, dear”, said Mr. Weasley, smiling as he gently pulled her into his own arms to give George some room to breathe. “Now correct me if I’m wrong but I don’t believe choking poor George here to death is the best solution right now.” For some reason, his words only made Mrs. Weasley sob more violently - but the same time it seemed to help her, for she almost immediately composed herself, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief she had produced from George-had-no-idea-where. Probably conjured out of thin air.

Meanwhile, Mr. Weasley’s hand had replaced his wife’s on George’s shoulder.

“Get some sleep, son”, he said. George, his eyes fixed once more on his twin’s face, only shook his head silently, and his father knew better than to argue. He gave George’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“We’ll be upstairs.”

And, muttering quiet words of comfort, Mr. Weasley led his wife out of the room. As soon as the door fell shut behind them, George heaved himself out of the armchair and crossed the room to sit on the floor beside the couch - beside his twin - once more.

For a minute he only sat there, legs crossed, watching Fred breathe, half expecting him to open his eyes and burst into laughter, boasting about how brilliantly he’d fooled them all - but Fred remained as limp and pale as he’d been all evening. Barely noticing what his hands were doing, George tucked the blankets tighter around his brother, just to give himself something to do.. and to feel a little less useless . When there were no more loose hems to tuck in, no more pillows to arrange, and no more folds to smoothe to keep George’s hands occupied, he let them fall limply to his knees. Pathetic , he scolded himself as he felt a lump form in his throat. What would Fred think if he saw you like this? You’re worse than mom!

A small smile crept up George’s face as he imagined Fred’s reaction. Yes, he would most definitely call him a sap and tell him to shove off - but at that moment George couldn’t bring himself to care. He could have lost Fred today - he still could, for all he knew -, ... he wasn’t about to pretend that that didn’t scare the holy heck out of him. Suddenly needing the contact, George leaned forward without another thought until his head was resting half on the couch, half on Fred’s chest. He brought one arm up to rest beside his face, telling himself that even though he couldn’t feel Fred’s heartbeat through all the layers of clothing and blankets, he would at least notice if his breathing… no. Stop . Stop thinking about that .

“Come on, Fred”, he muttered, words muffled by both too many blankets and inescapable exhaustion. He fought hard to keep his eyes open and focused on his twin’s face, but it was a losing battle. “Lazy prat… you’ve been out long enough…”

There was so much more he wanted to say. So many words he’d never said and was irrationally afraid would be left unspoken forever if he didn’t say them now. But, thankfully, before any of them found their way from his heart to his lips, causing him - no doubt - to make a complete fool of himself in front of his brother, sleep took him.


	3. Still Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred comes to and has to deal with a very worried twin brother..

STRONG ENOUGH  
Chapter 3: “Still Here”

When Fred slipped slowly back into consciousness, the first thing he noticed was the silence. He’d just been fighting a death-eater, why was everything so eerily quiet?

The next thing he noticed were the pillows beneath his head. The warmth of too many blankets piled on top of him. Then, suddenly, a sharp pain in his chest. He winced, trying to reach up to find its source, but found he couldn’t move his arm. Something was weighing it down. Something heavy, warm, and - human, Fred realized, with as much surprise as his only half-conscious brain was able to provide. He opened his eyes, but it was too dark to see anything but shadows and silhouettes. George?

Trying to figure out where he was, Fred attempted to lift his head from the pillows - but for one, it was too dark to see much other than what was right in front of his face, and either way he suddenly felt awfully dizzy and immediately sank back into his pillows with a barely audible groan. The pain in his chest didn’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon either, but Fred ignored it. He’d realized by now that he was back at Grimmauld Place, but he didn’t have the slightest idea how he’d made it there. Or why he was on the couch instead of his bed. Or what George was doing on the floor. He tried to recall what happened.

His brother had thrown the suitcase towards him, and Fred had tried to grab it.. but a death-eather had gripped him by the ankle as he jumped. Of course Fred had known he could not possibly risk apparating to the Order’s hideout with a death-eater dangling from his leg, so he’d tried to shake him off. But George had disapparated and now there were two of them against one of him, and Fred had to do something, so he apparated to a place near Grimmauld Place. 

He winced once more as the mere thought of apparition brought the dizziness back at full force - thankfully it passed as quickly as it’d come, though it left him pathetically breathless, which, in turn, brought back the pain.

But he remembered now. The park, George’s voice… the spell, hitting him in the chest. By now, Fred was awake enough to remember that he had two arms, so he tugged his left hand free from between his own body and what felt like at least a dozen pillows, and reached up to make sure he was still in once piece - but instead of his chest, his hand found.. another hand. George’s hand. For a second, Fred was puzzled.

Something in Fred’s addled mind clicked, and he understood, groaning inwardly at how long it’d taken him to figure out the obvious. The spell must have knocked him out. How long?, he wondered. Instinctively, his eyes tried to find a clock on the walls, but in the lingering darkness it was utterly pointless.  
They’d been done with packing just as the sun had gone down. A couple of hours at the least, then, he figured.. And George… George was asleep on the floor. With no blanket, as far as Fred could tell, and nothing but about two inches of couch for a pillow. Fred shook his head in disbelief and almost chuckled to himself at his brother’s over-protective mother-hen behaviour.. but then he realized something else that wiped the smile off of his face as quickly as it had appeared. George’s hand. He’d placed it right over Fred’s heart, as if to-... no. That couldn’t be it. Or could it? Could George have been trying to reassure himself that Fred’s heart was still beating? Could he have been that scared?

Merlin’s beard, what did that spell do to me to make him worry so much? 

He considered waking George up, partly to find out what happened, and partly to reassure him that he was perfectly alright.. and to tell his idiot of a brother to go to bed or, at the very least, find himself a blanket. Then again, the fact that George hadn’t woken up yet despite all of Fred’s wriggling spoke volumes about how exhausted he’d been when he’d fallen asleep. 

However, the decision was taken from Fred when the sharp pain in his chest flared up again and he couldn’t help but wince. Somehow he managed to bite back a whimper, but nevertheless, he felt George stir and lift his head off of Fred’s arm. 

“... Fred?” 

Several seconds passed during which Fred couldn’t do anything but bite his lip, trying hard to swallow another more than ungraceful sound, as the searing fire in his chest gradually subsided again. 

“Fred, you awake?”

And finally, it passed. Fred only hoped fervently that his brother would mistake his sigh of relief for a yawn.

“Mornin’, Georgie”, he breathed - and a lopsided smile found its way onto his lips as he felt George pull his hand back to himself. He wasn’t surprised - nor hurt, since neither of them had ever been much of the touchy-feely kind. Not in years, anyway. 

Which was why he was more than just a little taken aback when he very suddenly found himself with an armful of George, who had, without any sign or warning, pulled him into a crushing hug.

Perhaps a tad too crushing - but considering the circumstances Fred wasn’t going to complain. He had to admit he was touched by this unusual show of affection, but at the same time he wasn’t quite sure how to react to it. Any other day he would have given George a pat on the back, called him a sap, and told him to shove off and go find himself a girl to cuddle.. but somehow, right now, that didn’t seem like the right thing to say. Still, he felt like he should say something, so he opened his mouth without any idea what was going to come out-.. but whatever it was going to be, George cut him off with a hoarse, somewhat choked whisper.

“Call me a sap and I swear to god I’m going to knock you right back out again.” 

Fred chuckled softly, considering George’s words for about half a heartbeat.

“Sap.- … Oi!” 

Fred’s head fell heavily back into the pile of pillows with a muffled -thud- as George unceremoniously dropped him - not that that dampened Fred’s amusement in the slightest.

“Git.” 

“Maybe. But still better looking than you”, Fred grinned and was about to give his brother’s shoulder a friendly shove, when suddenly a wave of fatigue washed over him and he found himself barely even able to keep his eyes open. Not that it mattered much; even now that his eyes had gotten used to the darkness, he could only very vaguely make out his surroundings. 

He felt George get up and move away from him, and for a second Fred wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have called him a sap after all, but before his tired mind could come up with a sufficient amount of words to form a coherent question - or apology -, his twin was back by his side - and as George settled himself once more on the floor beside the couch and leaned his head back against the armrest, Fred realized that he’d only gone and gotten himself a blanket. Good thing, too, he thought to himself. Not that it was particularly cold - not at all in fact - but it was still late, and George was supposed to be in bed. Or at least on something more comfortable than the floor. A heavy fog starting to cloud his mind, trying to pull him back under, made it harder and harder for Fred to stay awake, but he pushed it aside. 

“You know you should really-”

“Shut up.”

“At least-”

“Drop it, Fred, will you? I’m not leaving.” 

And with a sigh, Fred did. He was too tired to argue. If he was honest with himself, he hadn’t really expected George to listen to him anyway. In the silence that followed their short exchange he had to admit, again, that he was touched by his twin’s stubborn insistence to watch over him - even now that he was awake. And, just for the record, feeling perfectly fine - well, aside from the pathetic weariness and the strange recurring pain in his chest. But those were just very ordinary, not to mention temporary, side-effects of being knocked out by a spell, surely. 

Not for the first time that night, George seemed to read his mind. 

“How’re you feelin’, Freddie?”, he asked quietly.

“‘m fine.” 

“You sure?”  
Fred wasn’t sure whether to laugh or roll his eyes at his twin. He decided to do neither, as at that moment both options seemed like too much effort. 

“‘m sure.” 

George didn’t seem convinced at all, and when he spoke again Fred wondered if he’d even heard him. “I should tell mom you’re awake..” The soft rustling of fabric against fabric followed his words and Fred realized with a start that George was about to get up.

“What? No!”, he hissed. “It’s the middle of the night, George, let them sleep for god’s sake.” 

George hesitated. “But.. you were out of it for hours, you could be seriously hurt, who knows what that spell did to y-..”

Suddenly, rolling his eyes did seem worth the effort. “I told you, I’m fine.” Bad enough he’d been knocked out. The last thing Fred needed - or wanted, for that matter - was everyone in the house waking up in the middle of the night to make a drama out of it. Of course, knowing their mother, he knew he was only delaying the inevitable, but still. “It can wait ‘til morning, okay?” 

“You’ve no idea how scared mom w-”

“Of course I know, do you think I’m that daft?”, Fred snapped. A heartbeat later he regretted losing his temper - not only because he could practically feel George glaring at him, but because his chest suddenly felt like someone had sat down on it - someone heavy. It took more strength than he cared to admit to force himself to keep breathing normally. If George noticed that something was off now of all times, he’d have the whole family gathered around him in a matter of seconds. 

“‘m sorry”, he muttered. “Just… it can wait until morning, okay?”

To his relief, his brother didn’t argue - but he didn’t agree, either. 

“Come on, Georgie. I’m fine, I promise.”

And finally, finally, he heard George settle back down, though he could practically feel worry radiating from him like heat from a flame. 

“Fred-”

“Listen, if I die while you’re asleep, you’re allowed to kill me, okay?”

He’d meant it as a joke, but before he’d even completed the sentence he felt George tense up again and realized that perhaps he hadn’t quite chosen the best words to get his point across. However, he just couldn’t think of anything else to say that might ease his brother’s mind - so he didn’t, and simply allowed himself to finally close his eyes. Almost instantly, he felt sleep tugging at his consciousness, eager to pull him back under, and, exhausted as he was, Fred didn’t fight it. 

Barely five minutes later, he felt George stir. Biting back a sigh, Fred thought about trying to send him off to bed again, but before he could, his brother relaxed, seemingly comfortable again - which he wouldn’t have to worry about if he’d just trade the cold stonefloor for an actual bed. Oh well. It’s not like I didn’t try, Fred thought, and even though he’d never admit it out loud, part of him was grateful that George was still there. 

However, when that same cycle - Fred falling asleep only be woken up by a restless George -, had repeated itself about 3 or 4 times, it was starting get on Fred’s nerves. He just wanted to sleep, was that really too much to ask? He was about to ask George as much - when he realized what was going on. George wasn’t trying to sleep - he was listening to Fred’s breathing. And everytime Fred fell asleep, and his breathing slowed down, something in George freaked out, thinking he’d died on him. 

With a heavy yet somewhat amused sigh, Fred raised his right arm just enough to half-heartedly punch his brother in the shoulder. Not that he was awake enough - nor strong enough, but he wasn’t about to admit that - to put a lot of force into it.

“Go to bed, you prat”, he grumbled, “you’re keeping me up.” 

“Sorry”, George muttered, and made a point of leaning back and tugging his blanket tighter around his shoulders. Fred didn’t buy it. Luckily, he had another idea. 

“Am I going to convince you to go to bed anytime soon or-”

“No.” 

“Fine.” 

George’s only reply to how easily Fred had given in was silence, but somehow he managed to make even that sound both surprised and confused. 

“Give me your hand, then.” 

“... come again?” 

“George, you can either give me your hand or you can have me personally kick you out of the room. What’s it gonna be?”

He felt George turn his head, no doubt giving him a more than bewildered look, and slowly ran out of patience. 

“Oh, will you just-”

“Okay, okay. Here. Now, why exactly-”

Fred groped blindly into the darkness in front of him, and when he found George’s hand he took it unceremoniously into his own and pulled it to his chest, where he held it firmly in place. 

“There. Breathing. Heartbeat. I’m still here, okay? And I’m not going anywhere. Now sleep.” 

For a second, George stiffened and Fred was almost certain he’d pull his hand back the way he had earlier - not that he’d hold it against him.

It wasn’t that they were uncomfortable with physical contact, they never had been, really. When they were younger -well, much younger, admittedly-, no one in their family had even raised an eyebrow anymore if they’d found them holding hands while walking, or sleeping in the same bed after one of them had had a nightmare. They’d never really lost that bond, they’d just kind of… grown out of it, Fred supposed - and instantly called himself a pathetic sap when he couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps he missed it more than he’d ever let on. 

He was about to let go of George’s hand - mostly to prove a point to himself -, when he felt his twin relax, and, though somewhat hesitantly, settle back into the position Fred had found him in when he’d first come to. He still found it hard to believe that George could possibly be comfortable enough to sleep like this, but, sinking deeper into his pillows with a heavy sigh, he decided to leave that for George to worry about. 

Still, even as he allowed himself to drift off once again, a question began to form in his mind.. Fred tried to grasp it, put it into words and give voice to it, but before he could even attempt to comprehend the deeper thought behind it, sleep pulled him under, and he did not wake up again before dawn. 

And this time, neither did George.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm back! Sorry it's been MONTHS! I'm posting this on mobile so please forgive me if I've overlooked any typos or grave grammar mistakes! I have a couple more chapters of this written down already, and depending on how you guys like this one, I might post the others soon, too. c:
> 
> This one is quite sappy and it's really only a sweet little moments between the twins with some nostalgic reminiscing about ye olde times.. Next chapter will have more characters again! c: 
> 
> I'm really excited to post this, and I really hope you guys like it! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and please leave kudos or a short comment if you'd like me to continue this story!


	4. Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a good night's sleep, Fred feels much better - or does he?

STRONG ENOUGH  
Chapter 4: “Me Too”

It took George several seconds to realize that he was awake. And even then, another minute to figure out what it was that had woken him. Reluctantly, he blinked his eyes open and lifted his head to glance over his shoulder. Dim, pale morning light fell into the room through a gap in the curtains, particles of dust dancing slowly in its rays, and even though it was barely even dawn yet George had to blink several more times to be able to see anything but blurry fog.  
When his vision cleared, he recognized the source of the noise that had woken him: their mother, standing in the doorway to the hall with a hand pressed to her mouth, and a glint in her eyes that George suspected were tears. He was about to assure her that Fred was alright, when he realized that she didn’t seem to be worried - in fact, she was smiling. Smiling and crying? Why? Puzzled, George looked back down at his twin, wondering if perhaps he’d missed something obvious. Immediately, it became clear to him what it was that had moved their mother so much, and, hoping it wouldn’t wake his brother, he pointedly pulled his hand out from underneath Fred’s, letting it fall to the side of the couch instead.

“Mornin’, mom”, he said quietly, hoping she wouldn’t feel the need to comment on the unusual behaviour she’d witnessed. Not that he was ashamed of it, no, that wasn’t it. He only felt very strongly that it was something that only concerned Fred and him, and he didn’t particularly feel like discussing it with anyone. That, and, well. He did have a reputation to lose. 

“Good morning, George”, his mother said as she crossed the room to stand by his side, her smile still audible in her voice. She laid a hand gently on his shoulder and, with the other, pulled a footrest to the side of the couch, where she sat down. “How is he?”

She’d obviously gathered that Fred had woken up at some point during the night, but somehow it still felt good to say it out loud, so George did. He moved back to the armchair as he spoke, making room for his mother to renew the healing spells she’d cast on his brother the evening before. 

He told her about the short conversation he’d had with Fred, how he’d repeatedly assured him that he was feeling just fine (and that George wasn’t sure he believed him), how he’d rebelled against having the entire house woken up just to check on him, and how he’d convinced him to go back to sleep - conveniently omitting the part that explained how his hand had ended up in Fred’s, which his mother very kindly pretended not to notice. 

“I was going to wake you and dad, to let you know he was fine, and to check on him…”, he admitted, watching her as she waved her wand over Fred’s chest in intricate patterns he did not even attempt to follow. “But.. he asked me not to.” 

To his surprise, his mother only smiled, pausing in her incantations for a second to look at him with such warmth in her eyes, it made George wonder how one person could hold so much love inside and not burst with the force of it. Perhaps only mothers could. 

She turned her eyes back on Fred, smoothing a stray strand of ginger hair back behind his ear as she said softly: “You two were always too proud to accept any sort of help.. You always thought you had to figure everything out by yourselves. I knew you wouldn’t want to wake us unless there was an emergency. I’m just glad there wasn’t.” 

“So am I”, George said quietly when his mother returned to her incantations, content to watch her do her magic from his comfortable position in the cozy armchair - his neck and shoulders hadn’t quite forgiven him for the night spent on the cold stone floor yet, and he was grateful to finally be able to relax them. The morning light grew slowly stronger, warming George’s back as it fell through the old, dusty windows. Perhaps he would have dozed off again, had not a sleepy voice suddenly interrupted the peaceful silence. 

“Geor-...? ... Oh. Mornin’, mom.” 

George’s eyes flew open once more at the sound of his twin’s voice, and he was relieved to find him blinking up at their mother sleepily, smiling. 

Immediately, she flung her arms around Fred, and her voice, already muffled by both her son’s shoulder and a pillow she’d accidentally pulled into her arms along with him, sounded a bit choked when she said: “Oh, good morning, Fred… my dear boy…” 

With some effort, Fred managed to wriggle free just enough to croak a piteous: “Mom, please-...”, after which their mother, thankfully, loosened her grip on him enough for him to breathe and, wiping her eyes with one hand, mumbled an apology. 

Eventually, she released him, holding him upright and at arm’s length with one hand, and cupping his cheek, then feeling his forehead with the other. 

“How are you feeling, dear? Any pain? Did you sleep well? Are you hungry?”

Fred endured both her crushing hug and the following anxious interrogations with remarkable patience, only interrupting her when he was beginning to worry that his sleep-addled mind might not allow him to remember even half the questions before she let him answer any at all. 

“I’m fine, mom-”, he assured her, laughing and holding up a hand when she took a breath, no doubt to bombard him with more questions. “Now, let me see. Fine, no, yes I did, and, oh, positively starving!” George’s heart sank when he noticed that Fred’s smile, convincing as it was at first glance, didn’t reach his eyes. Was he lying? Was something wrong? Mother-hen, George scolded himself. He’s just tired, is all. 

George abandoned the comfortable armchair to return to his brother’s side, just as their mother was done rearranging the pillows around Fred for the third and final time. Then she rose as well, kissing the top of Fred’s head and muttering something about preparing breakfast before scurrying off towards the kitchen. Just at that moment, the door to the hall swung open again and in came in a very dishevelled looking Mr. Weasley, who seemed to have crawled out of bed only moments ago. For a second, he looked worried, then - 

“Ah”, he said, smiling when his eyes found Fred, sitting up on the couch and looking significantly less pale than the evening before. He walked over to the twins, ruffling George’s hair and giving Fred a warm pat on the shoulder. “How you feelin’, son?”, he asked, a good-natured twinkle in his eyes as he cast an amused glance at the carefully arranged pillows and blankets. 

“‘m fine, dad”, said Fred. He was smiling, and thankfully that was enough for Mr. Weasley, who didn’t press him any further. He only nodded, smiled, and said: “Good.” He’d never been a man of too many words. Then, giving Fred’s shoulder another gentle squeeze, he turned and followed Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen, asking: “Now, did I hear someone say breakfast?” 

The moment their dad left the room, Fred sank back into his pillows with a relieved sigh. He’d never liked being coddled - as their mother had so correctly put it, he was too proud. And the mere implication that he could possibly be anything other than “fine” was enough to wound that pride. He endured it, coming from their mom and dad, because.. well. Because there are, in every family, certain things parents get away with that others just don’t. However, when Fred turned his head and met his twin’s eyes, he frowned. 

“Don’t you dare, George”, he said. 

George grinned and obliged, keeping his mouth shut. For a minute, they sat together in what started out as comfortable silence, but the words George didn’t say hung heavily in the room like unfallen rain, until even Fred couldn’t bear it anymore. 

“Or for god’s sake, just ask”, he groaned.

George smiled. 

“How-”

“Fine.”

Laughing softly, George leaned back against the footrest their mother had pulled over to the couch earlier. He hadn’t really expected Fred to let him finish his question. Still… 

“You know, I was going to say”, he began again, teasingly, even as his smile faded into a more serious expression, “how would you feel about telling me the truth?”

The look Fred shot him was more than a little annoyed. 

“Seriously, George?” 

When George only looked at him expectantly, Fred rolled his eyes. 

“I’m fine, why would I lie about it?” 

George shrugged. “I’ve no idea, that’s why I’m asking. So what’s wrong? And don’t look at me like that you git, I can see it in your face. Besides”, he added as Fred, as if on cue, began to raise his hand, “you keep rubbing your chest. Does it hurt?” 

Fred, having been on the verge of interrupting his brother only a second ago, glanced down at his chest, then at his hand, which he regarded with a rather puzzled expression. George raised his eyebrows at him, waiting. 

It took Fred several seconds to come up with an excuse, and when he did he quickly dropped his hand and shrugged, glueing the fake-smile back on his lips. “It’s nothing. Probably just too many healings spells doing their job all at once. Merlin knows what mom did to me.” 

Lame, George thought, frowning, and was about to tell Fred as much, but was interrupted once again - this time by their mother’s voice, calling them to breakfast. Fred heaved himself up from the couch at once, pointedly ignoring the hand George had offered him. George tried very hard to pretend, if only to himself, that Fred’s behaviour didn’t hurt him. For now, he decided to let it slide. Perhaps his brother wasn’t lying to him. Perhaps it really was “nothing”, and Fred really was perfectly fine. Fervently hoping against better judgement that his instincts were misleading him, George rose from the floor and stepped around the small table to finally open the heavy, dusty curtains and allow the warm morning light to illuminate the room before he followed his brother into the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back with a new chapter! Not a lot of action, but some more family interaction this time! Hope you like it, please consider leaving a comment or some kudos if you enjoyed it! (:


	5. Side-effects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred is fine :)
> 
> Oh, you don't think so?   
> Well, neither does George.   
> Which annoys Fred. A lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hello! Notes at the beginning this time! 
> 
> This one's another relatively short chapter - also less angsty and painful, but don't worry there's plenty of pain in the next one :DD (I just still need to edit it....uugghh) - but anyway, I hope you enjoy this one! I guess it's a bit of a calm before the storm.

STRONG ENOUGH  
Chapter 5: “Side-effects”

 

“Breakfast” was definitely not the word George would have used to describe what awaited him there. It would have been an insult to their mother to call the meal she’d prepared anything other than a feast. How she had managed to conjure up even half of it in such a short amount of time, he could not even begin to fathom. 

“Wow, mom - who’s going to eat all this?”, he wondered aloud as he sank into a chair next to Fred, mouth watering at the sight of toast, beans, ham and eggs on one side of the table, and pancakes and syrup on the other. The smell of freshly brewed tea hung in the air, and suddenly realizing how thirsty he was, George reached for the teapot and filled both his and Fred’s cups to the brim while their mother busily piled pancake after pancake onto Fred’s plate, completely ignoring her son’s protests - (“You need to get your strength back, dear!” - “Mom, I was unconscious for hours, not weeks!”).

Pointedly ignoring the pancake-war (it wouldn’t do him any good to get involved and support either side of it, so he tried his best to stay well out of it), George helped himself to some toast and butter. Eventually, Fred managed to convince their mother that he was, in fact, a human being, and therefore not physically able to eat four helpings of pancakes - a statement that nearly made George snort into his tea. He’d seen Fred eat more than that before. Not that he was going to bring that up now, or anytime soon; he’d very much prefer to stay alive at least a little while longer.

Fred, having heard his snort, turned to him with a threatening glare, but fortunately their sister Ginny came running into the kitchen, calling out Fred’s name as she launched herself at her brother, flung her arms around him and, in the process, very nearly knocked him out of his chair. In fact, the only thing that kept them both from falling over was George, acting involuntarily as a living wall into which Fred’s shoulder crashed hard enough to make them both groan. 

“Ginny!”, their mother scolded her indignantly, just as Fred began to laugh, unable to resist the urge to tease his sister at least a little. 

“Oh, you’re Ginny then! Forgive me, you know I’ve been unconscious for so long, I completely forgot what your face looked like...”

“Prat!”, Ginny said, letting go of her brother only to box him in the side. “I wish I could forget what your face looked like!”

“It’s alright Ginny, most people do. You know it’s okay to be jealous sometimes, but I promise, your own face isn’t that bad.”

“Yeah, you’re almost as good-looking as we are!”, George chimed in, grinning even as he rubbed his arm where Fred’s shoulder had collided with it. 

Ginny threw up her arms in frustration. “Why do I even bother with you two?”, she huffed, and turned away from them to take one of the empty seats, but Fred quickly reached out and caught her around the middle, pulling her into a one-armed hug and ruffling her hair with his free hand as he gave her an affectionate grin. 

“Because you love us. Well, me.” 

“Oi!”

“Oh, fine. George too, I suppose..” 

“Of course she loves me, and more than you, I’m willing to bet! Everyone knows I’m the superior older brother”, George declared. 

“Excuse me? Superior? You’re not even her real brother, you’re obviously adopted!”

“Oh, shut it, you two…”, Ginny sighed, unable to even pretend to be mad at them, and smiling fondly as she returned Fred’s hug before sitting down on his other side and helping herself to some of the remaining pancakes. 

Their parents had watched the whole exchange with an expression of barely concealed amusement on their faces. Now that their kids had all settled down again, Mr. Weasley returned to the newspaper he’d been reading, and Mrs. Weasley, hearing footsteps coming from the hall, rose from her seat to put on a fresh kettle of tea. 

Seconds later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered, all three of them looking rather anxious until they spotted Fred sitting at the table with the others, obviously alive and well. 

“Mornin’,” said Ron as he dropped into an empty seat, piled some food onto his plate, then looked at his brother. “Gave us quite the scare there, mate.” 

Harry and Hermione sank into the seats on either side of him, nodding their good-mornings around the table before turning to Fred as well, smiling.

“It’s good to see you up and about”, said Harry.

“I’m really glad you’re alright”, said Hermione at the same time.

George threw a sideways glance at his brother, wondering how much more of this he’d tolerate, but Fred only muttered his thanks. 

“I suppose I could have died”, he said quietly a moment later, more to his plate than to anyone in particular. Still, everyone heard, and for a second it was eerily quiet as worried glances were exchanged all around the table, no one quite certain what to say. Hermione opened her mouth once, but, looking a little lost, closed it again a moment later, looking first at Harry, who looked just as helpless, then at the table. 

Then Fred spoke again, and a grin spread across his face as he elbowed his twin in the side and kindly ended their suffering. “I mean, mom and George certainly tried to suffocate me!” 

George, who had just been about to reach out and give his twin a comforting pat on the back, instantly abandoned that plan and chose instead to throw a piece of toast at him, just as Ginny boxed him in the shoulder. 

“You prat!”, she exclaimed, but soon in the laughter that, starting from Ron, had by now infected their entire family. Only Mrs. Weasley still looked a bit unsettled, and George shook his head.

“Git”, he mumbled under his breath, but was unable to bite back a smile. A joke to get us off his back. Clever.

And when everyone was finally busily digging into their breakfast, George heard his brother breathe a sigh of relief. He also noted that Fred kept eyeing the door, and, checking the time, he figured it couldn’t be long until the rest of the order got up. No doubt they would put Fred through the same ordeal all over again. With no ill-will and only the best of intentions of course, but still..   
George put down his fork and knife, finished his cup of tea, and rose from his chair to excuse himself.

“I’ll be upstairs, then. Got some more unpacking to do.” 

“I’ll help”, said Fred immediately. “No way I’ll let you rummage through my things all by yourself.” 

George rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Together, they left the room and trudged down the hall, where they picked up one of the large leather suitcases they’d filled with things from the Burrow. Sending it floating up the narrow staircase first, they followed it more slowly, on foot. For a moment, George considered apparating, but discarded the idea when he realized that Fred would have already done so by now, had he felt up to it. 

When the door of their shared room fell shut behind them, George heaved the suitcase onto one of their beds. Across from him, Fred was breathing heavily. At first George didn’t think about it and simply opened up the suitcase to start sorting out their things - they had just walked up three flights of stairs after all, and he was a tad out of breath himself - but when he did look up, he found his twin leaning against the bedpost, rubbing his fist against his chest, just over his heart. 

“Fred?”, he asked, alarmed, prepared to jump to his side, but Fred held up a hand to stop him. 

“‘m fine.” 

George raised one eyebrow. “Right.” 

The glare his brother shot him made George shut his mouth, but he still kept a close eye on him as he sank down on the other side of the bed. Fred pretended not to notice, and stubbornly pulled the old leather trunk closer to him to start unpacking. George hesitated for a heartbeat, but he knew all too well that anything he could possibly say would only piss Fred off more, so he only reached blindly into the suitcase, pulled out an armful of stuff, and began to sort through it. For a while, they both worked in silence, and George wasn’t quite sure if it was tense or not. However, when he noticed that Fred’s breathing had completely gone back to normal, he felt significantly better. Soon, he started to make occasional off-hand remarks about the obscure things their family had asked them to bring back from their home, and Fred began to join in, his anger -as was usual for him- subsiding as quickly as it had flared up. 

(“What even is that?”)  
(“What does Ginny need those for?”)  
(“Well that’s cute I guess.”)  
(“Better not tell mom about this if we want dad to live.”)

Soon they’d divided everything into two piles, mentally labelled “theirs” and “not theirs”. “Not theirs” was thrown back into the trunk, which George then picked up and carried out into the hall where he sent floating back down the stairwell. 

Returning to his and Fred’s room, he picked the conversation back up where they’d left it when he’d walked out into the hall. 

“You know I have no idea what half of those potions are good for..”, he mused, then grinned: “We should try some of them out - on Crookshanks perhaps?”

Fred chuckled, then stretched, tilting his head to either side to try to get a kink out of his neck. “Brilliant idea, I’m sure Hermione would love that.” 

“Well, brother-mine, I had no idea you worried about dear Hermione’s opinions so much”, George teased as he sat down on the bed again, about to tackle the remaining “theirs” pile, which consisted mostly of tattered old school books, clothes, and gadgets and ingredients they needed for their joke-shop articles - especially the latter needed to be carefully sorted and stowed away safely. Preferably somewhere their mother wasn’t going to find them. “I mean”, he continued, “we could always just ask mom about-”

“Nah”, Fred interrupted him promptly, rolling his eyes at his twin. “No fun.” 

“Ah, there’s the spirit”, said George, nodding absent-mindedly as he picked up a handful of puking pastilles and nosebleed nougats that had fallen out of their carefully labelled boxes and tried to tell them apart. They really needed to bring some variation into the looks of their products. He repeated that thought out loud, but Fred didn’t answer. Confused, George looked up, and his brother’s face told him all he needed to know. Fred was staring at his hands. George decided to give him 5 more seconds to say it. Silently, he counted. Five… four… He pretended to concentrate on the hopelessly disorganized pile of ingredients again, to make it easier for Fred to spit it out. Three… two… one... 

“I-”

Ah, there it is. 

“It’s fine, Freddie.” George smiled, closing and setting aside another box before he looked up again. The confused expression on Fred’s face was beyond priceless and George had to bite back a grin. Idiot, he thought affectionately. “What? I’ve been your twin all your life and you still think I don’t know you at all?”, he asked, teasingly tossing a pillow at his brother before he returned his attention to the skiving snackboxes. “You don’t need to say it, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

He knew Fred wanted to apologize for snapping at him earlier that morning and then again when they’d gone upstairs. But George didn’t need an apology. He just needed Fred to be alright - and for now, it seemed like he was. Perhaps the chest pains really were nothing more than temporary and ultimately harmless inconveniences. 

He looked up once more, raising his eyebrows at his twin. “So? You going to help me with this or..?”

“Wh- .. oh. Yeah. Sure.” Fred seemed almost startled for a moment, then immediately set to work. Having been the one to come up with most of the color-codes, Fred was a lot better at telling their differend kinds of skiving snacks apart, so, unsurprisingly, the re-packaging went much faster with his help. Once they were done with those, they began to put away the rest of their belongings, piling the few books they’d brought on a shelf and tossing clothes into drawers until all their stuff was more or less neatly stored, and they both allowed themselves to fall over backwards onto their respective beds. 

“That was more stuff than I expected”, groaned Fred. 

“Too much”, agreed George. 

“Let’s never move again.” 

“Ever.”

“...”

“...”

“... So, there’s probably some kind of secret order thing happening downstairs… d’you think we should-”

George grinned up at the ceiling. “Absolutely. Let’s go.”


End file.
